by Maria Geraci
He sighs. Maybe we’ll never know exactly what happened. Maybe some cases just aren’t meant to be solved.”
“Like your Angel of Death case?” I ask softly.
“That case is one of the reasons I put off retirement. I wanted so badly to be able to look at the families of the victims in the eye and tell them that I’d caught their loved one’s killer. But after all these years it’s all gone cold.”
“Weren’t most of the victims terminally ill?”
His eyes harden. “Yes, but that didn’t give her the right to take their lives.”
“I agree.” I don’t want to bring up bad memories for him, but I really am curious, so I ask as delicately as possible, “What made the case so difficult to solve?”
“There were six known victims, but the FBI and my department think the number might have been almost double that. Most of the time the clue to finding a serial killer is the information we get from the first victim, and we simply don’t know who he or she was.”
Even though this is all a little ghoulish, I can’t help but be fascinated.
“I watched the episode when it was featured on America’s Most Vicious Criminals, but I have to admit, I’ve forgotten the details.”
“The first victim was probably someone important to her. A patient or family member she cared about and didn’t want to see suffer anymore, so she slipped them a little extra morphine. Since the victim was probably very close to dying anyway, no one would have thought to do an autopsy or check their blood for the presence of excessive drugs.”
It’s coming back to me now. “The victims all died of narcotic overdoses, right?”
He nods. “Easy enough to do fifteen years ago when hospitals didn’t have the kind of security measures they do now. She could have easily upped their dose through a drug pump and then recalibrated the machine back to the normal dose before anyone checked.”
“But you do know that the murderer was a she?”
“The truth is, the murderer could be a man for all we know. The only thing I’m certain of is that he or she had enough medical knowledge to be able to manipulate a narcotics pump. They might have worked for the hospital, or one of the temp agencies, or hell…they could have even come in as a visitor. And it wasn’t limited to one area of town. The murders occurred in multiple hospitals.”
“What was the motive?”
“Most likely, in her delusional mind, she probably thought she was helping them. Unless we’re lucky enough after all these years to catch a break in the case, we’ll never know the exact motive. We interviewed hundreds of people, watched hours and hours of surveillance tapes, but we never had enough evidence to arrest anyone. Our Angel,” he says mocking the nickname, “was clever. We know very little about him or her.”
“How do you even know it was the same person?”
He hesitates. “This was never released to the press or featured in the T.V. show, but our Angel left a note each time they struck.”
I swallow hard. “What did it say?”
“R.I.P.”
“Rest in Peace?”
“Yep. Always written in pencil on a paper towel from the victim’s hospital room in block style letters.”
I fidget with the straw on my drink. “In your experience, Jim, what would you say the number one motive for killing someone usually is?”
He shrugs. “Depends. Money, anger, jealousy, power. Every murder is unique.”
“But money is a big one?”
“Oh yeah. It’s straight out of the Detective 101 handbook. Follow the money trail and chances are, you’ll find the killer.”
Which would make Derrick Delgado the most logical suspect.
“Can I ask you a few questions? As a professional?”
Jim’s green eyes sparkle with humor. “Shoot.”
“According to Travis, Abby died sometime between midnight and two a.m. The surveillance cameras caught Sebastian leaving the building a little after twelve-thirty, and since he left Abby very much alive, that would narrow the time of death to sometime between twelve-thirty and two.”
“Go on.”
“Abby’s brother, Derrick Delgado, is her heir, and according to Travis, she left him a bundle.”
Jim’s eyes narrow. “He told you that too?”
“Not in so many words. I sort of…inferred it.”
No one except my family and Will knows that I’m a human lie detector. Not Lanie. Not Sarah. But what the heck. Like I said, Jim is really easy to talk to, but more than that, even though I barely know him, something deep in my gut tells me to trust him. If anyone will believe me, it’s him.
I take a deep breath. “This might sound odd, but I can always tell when someone is lying. Or hiding something.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “That must prove interesting.”
“You think I’m strange.”
“Not at all. I believe that some people are very adept at reading others.”
“It’s more than that. I can see through the most benign lies. Go ahead. Try and lie to me.”
“You want me to lie to you?”
“In a way you already did. When you called my gift interesting when what you really meant was something else.”
He grins sheepishly. “Okay, I’ll play along. Let’s see, I got married when I was twenty-four.”
“That’s the truth.”
“My wife’s name was Julie.”
“True.”
“Our anniversary is May thirteen.”
“None of those were lies, Jim.”
He frowns. “I made that too easy. Let’s go again. This time I’ll tell you three things in a row.” He pauses to think. “Got it. Here you go: Travis’s middle name is James.” He pauses. “Julie was a schoolteacher.” Another pause. “Our first home was on Spring Street.”
“Your wife wasn’t a schoolteacher.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Your wife wasn’t a teacher,” I repeat.
“What made you pick that one?”
“All three statements were important to you because they’re about your family. I can’t explain it because it’s different for everyone, but with you, there’s a hitch in your voice when you talk about your family, but the bit about your late wife being a teacher, it was devoid of any emotion. Like it didn’t matter to you because it wasn’t real.”
He looks stunned. “I thought I was careful to keep my voice the same.”
I shrug.
“How long have you been able to do this?”
“Ever since I can remember. And, I’m kind of sensitive about it, so I’d appreciate it if you keep what I’ve just told you between us.”
“Of course,” he says, but I can tell he’s still not sold. “Have you ever thought of going to Vegas? You’d make a killing at the poker tables.”
I laugh. “Not my thing.”
He raises a brow playfully. “You never know.”
“So, back to Abby.” I glance around the building. “Let’s say someone wanted to get inside this building without being seen. How do you think they’d do it?”
“You mean how would they avoid the security cameras? From what I can tell, almost every door has one, so it would be almost impossible.”
Not what I wanted to hear since according to Travis, the only people seen on tape entering the building that night were Abby and Sebastian.
He must sense my frustration because he gets up and tosses the rest of his avocado shake into a nearby trashcan. “Want to show me the door you came through?”
“For real?”
“Why not? I have to admit, Lucy, you’ve intrigued me.”
We walk around to the side of the building. Everything appears the same as the day of the rec center opening, except this time the door is locked.
He glances up at the security camera, then back at the door. “The way the camera is angled, it would be impossible to get through this door without getting caught on tape. Except…” He looks at me. “What
was the time frame on the security footage?”
“I’m not sure. I just know that Travis said that—wait. Are you saying that maybe someone came in this door earlier and was waiting inside the building? Gus told me on the day of the celebration that not everything was a hundred percent operational, including the security. At the time it didn’t mean anything to me, but maybe he was talking about the cameras.”
“It certainly sounds like something that should be checked out.”
“So maybe Derrick snuck in the building earlier. He could have totally waited till Sebastian left. Maybe they argued, and he pushed her.”
“Does he have an alibi for the time of Abby’s death?”
“He claims to have been playing poker in Mexico Beach. And Travis said it checked out.”
“Well, there you go. Sounds like the brother is off the hook.”
As much as I hate to admit it, Jim is right. But I still can’t shake the feeling that Derrick Delgado is hiding something big.
My cell phone pings. It’s Susan Van Dyke’s attorney. He tells me that technically the dog now belongs to Susan’s sister, Deborah, so I make arrangements through him to drop Paco off at Susan’s home this afternoon.
I thank Jim for the smoothie and the conversation and reluctantly head back to The Bistro. It’s time to return Paco to his family.
Chapter Thirteen
Susan Van Dyke’s home is in an upscale neighborhood with a privacy gate. To get inside, I have to pick up a security phone.
“Can I help you?” asks a crusty sounding male voice.
“This is Lucy McGuffin. I spoke to Ms. Van Dyke’s attorney about returning Pa—, I mean Cornelius.”
The gate slowly opens which is my cue to come through. As I guide my car into the circular driveway, the house comes into view. It’s a two-story red brick mansion that seems out of place with the more coastal Mediterranean architecture of the other homes on the street.
Paco and I get out of the car and are greeted by an older gentleman wearing a black tie and jacket. It’s like he’s just stepped off the set of Downton Abbey.
“I’m Anthony,” he says, “Ms. Susan’s former butler.”
Paco barks and wags his tail. Anthony bends down and pats him on the head affectionately. “Cornelius. It’s so good to see you, sir. And in such good health! I must say, this is a huge relief.”
Sir? I try not to giggle. “So this is… I mean, this was Susan Van Dyke’s dog?”
“Oh, yes, this is definitely our Cornelius. I’d recognize him anywhere.”
Even though I’m glad that Paco is being reunited with his family, a part of me is sad too. Which is utterly selfish because it’s not like I could adopt him myself.
Paco trots into the house like he owns it, which, I suppose, he kind of does.
“Miss Deborah is in the study.” Anthony ushers me into a good-sized room filled with dark wooden shelves. A woman, maybe in her late seventies, thin and very fashionably dressed, is wrapping up books and placing them into a packing box.
Paco catches sight of her and freezes.
“I see the little mongrel has found his way back home.” She studies me with cool blue eyes. “You must be Miss McGuffin. The lawyer said you would be by today. Let’s get this over with. How much do you want?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Aren’t you looking for a reward for returning Cornelius?”
My spine stiffens. “No reward necessary. I just want to see him returned to his family.”
“Unfortunately his family, as you put it, is dead.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She goes back to packing up the books, which I suppose is my cue to slink off, but there’s no way I’m leaving Paco with this cold fish until I know for certain he’ll be well taken care of.
“Does he belong to you now?”
“I live half the year in Manhattan and the other half in Paris. My lifestyle isn’t suited for a dog.”
I frown. “What sort of provisions did your sister make for Cornelius?”
“You mean, in her will?” She laughs like I’ve just said something funny. “Susan would never leave me her precious Cornelius. She knew how much I detested him. Unfortunately, my sister didn’t make any provisions for the dog. I suppose it simply never occurred to her that the dog would outlive her. She was very egotistical that way.”
“Oh. I thought…that is, I thought she had cancer.”
“She did. But she’d been in remission for a while now. Her death came as a surprise.” She narrows her eyes at me. “How did you end up with the dog?”
“He was a with a woman named Abby Delgado. Does that name ring a bell?”
“No, but I didn’t know a lot of my sister’s friends. Like I said, I don’t live here. I just came down to clear up her estate and put the house up for sale.”
“Abby, that’s the woman who had Cornelius, died unexpectedly a few days ago. I’d assumed that Susan had given her the dog.”
“I had no idea Florida was so dangerous,” she deadpans. She looks down her nose at Paco. “Or perhaps you’re the bad omen.”
I really don’t like this woman. Although, she has a point. How strange that both Susan and Abby died just days apart from one another. “Do know how Abby might have gotten possession of Cornelius?”
“A few days after Susan died, the little beast needed to go outside to do his business.” She shudders in disgust. “Naturally I put him out in the yard to give him his privacy like I’d done before. Only this time, when I went to let him back inside, he was gone.”
In other words, Deborah put him out, forgot all about him and Paco probably ran away. I catch Paco’s gaze. I swear he’s looking at her with the same disgust that I feel.
“Can I ask what you plan to do with him?”
“Find him a good home, I suppose.” She looks at me with renewed interest. “Do you want him?”
“Absolutely.”
With my allergy getting in the way, I can’t keep him. But no way am I going to let Paco’s fate rest in Cruella deVil’s spiny fingers. I’ll find him a good home of my own choosing. Maybe Lanie will take him.
“Wonderful. Anthony will show you and Cornelius out now.”
She can’t get rid of us fast enough which is just as well because (and I think I can speak for Paco) neither of us want to stay a minute longer than necessary.
I don’t need anyone to show me out. I scoop Paco up in my arms, and just as I’m about to open the door on my own, Anthony shows up.
“I’m good—”
He motions with his hand for me to be quiet. “If you don’t mind, miss,” he whispers, waving me off to the side.
The butler wants a private word with me. The whole thing is deliciously creepy, so, naturally, I go along.
He guides me through a hallway that leads into a large kitchen. Compared to the rest of the house, which is dark and overly formal, this room is bright and sunny.
A middle-aged woman with caramel colored skin dressed in black pants and a white shirt breaks out into a smile at the sight of us. “Cornelius! I’m so glad you’re back!” She bends down and scratches Paco behind the ears. “We’ve been so worried about you!”
I introduce myself to the woman. Her name is Aurelia. She’s Anthony’s wife and the cook for the estate. “You’ll join us for tea?” She pours me a cup without waiting for my response.
It would be rude to decline, plus she’s just set a yummy looking plate of scones in the center of the table. She gives Paco a scone and lays down a bowl of water for him.
I’m not a huge tea drinker, but the scones are delicious. I should probably get her recipe. “I love your accent. Jamaica?” I ask.
“Ya mon,” Aurelia says, doing a Bob Marley imitation that makes me laugh. “How did Cornelius end up in your care?”
I tell them about Abby.
“How interesting,” Anthony says carefully in a way that makes me think he wants to say more.<
br />
“How long did the two of you work for Ms. Van Dyke?”
“I’ve been with her for thirty years.” He smiles tenderly at Aurelia. “And the missus here joined us almost fifteen years ago. I took one bite of her scones and fell instantly in love.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Aurelia blushes prettily. “Susan was like family. We would take Cornelius ourselves, but now that the estate is going up for sale, we’re planning to do some traveling. We’re starting with a world cruise.”
“A world cruise? That sounds fabulous. And, kind of expensive, huh?”
“Susan was very generous in her will,” Aurelia says primly.
“She had cancer?” I ask.
Aurelia nods. “Yes, poor lamb.” She makes the sign of the cross. “May her soul rest in peace.”
“Her death still came as a bit of shock,” says Anthony. “She’d been in remission for so long. Up till the end, she was very active with her charities and of course, with her special projects.”
I have a pretty good idea just what those special projects might be.
“Was Susan involved with the Sunshine Ghost Society?” I ask delicately.
“Oh yes,” Anthony says, “Susan was very involved with those kinds of groups. She used to host séances here at the house all the time. They came because of Cornelius. He’s extremely talented.”
Right. Cornelius, the Canine Ghost Whisperer. I glance at Paco, who’s struggling to lick a fleck of raspberry jam off his nose. More like the Scone Whisperer, if you ask me.
“Did the two of you, um…did you—”
“Did we participate in the séances?” Anthony finished. “Naturally. Miss Susan only hired staff who shared in her beliefs. It would have been too awkward otherwise.”
“Do you have any idea how Abby Delgado might have gotten Cornelius? Is it possible that Susan might have left the dog to her?”
Anthony and Aurelia exchange a telling look. “Susan definitely did not leave Cornelius with that Delgado woman. Or with the other one either.”
The other one?
“You mean, Phoebe Van Cleave?”
Aurelia makes a face. “Pushy woman, that one. Susan wasn’t dead a day that she came sniffing around here trying to take Cornelius. She said that they belonged together. But Cornelius didn’t like her.”